Wet Part 3

by Rivera, S. Jackson

  She stared at him for a second and he watched her slowly melt into a crying mess. Paul jumped up from his side of the table and pulled her up into his arms.

  “Hey! What did I say? Don’t cry. Whatever I said, I didn’t mean it. I—” He was sure she’d figured him out, his secret. He pulled back, trying to see her face, but she’d burrowed into his shoulder.

  “You just took me by surprise,” she sniffled. “Or I took myself by surprise, or . . . I don’t know. You’re talking about our future, years—together.”

  “Of course, how could you think—you’re my bride.” He cradled her face between his hands. “You and I are forever.”

  He’d do whatever it took to make it so, even if it was wrong.

  “I think, deep down, I always thought this was temporary, that I was just going to ride the ride until it was over, until you get tired of me. But you’re planning our future kids—”

  He planted a kiss on her lips that took her breath away.

  “You were saying?” He’d turned on the Kaa eyes.

  “Two,” she huffed out.

  “Two?” His lips hitched up on one side. He knew exactly what he was doing, the astard-ba.

  “I’d like two, to start with.” She’d lost all power to look away. She tried to recite her well-thought-out plan about children, hoping she made sense. “And then maybe we can just examine how it’s going after that.”

  “So you do want to get started right away.” He dialed up the power and her mind went blank.

  “Uh—I want to get—uh, started . . . right away,” she finally managed. She watched his tongue dart out and wet his lips. “Maybe I should start birth control.”

  “But you just said you’d like to get started on a baby.” He drew his hands up and down her nearly bare back, at an agonizingly sensual pace, but she felt the stay of execution he’d granted her when he dropped the intensity of his panty melting smile a few notches.

  “Practice—I’d like to wait—if I’m not pregnant already.” She reached up on her toes to give him a kiss, knowing she could never pull off the mind-blowing exploitation he’d just subjected her to. “I want to practice making babies for a year or two, too—you know, since I’m so new to this.”

  Paul closed his eyes. He’d put aside his guilt with God, tucked it away like he’d been doing for years, and concentrated on making Rhees stop crying. He hadn’t considered how it would affect him when he turned his honed powers of seduction on her. She’d stopped crying, his original goal, and that was good. She’d responded, pressing herself against him, baring her desire for him—damned good. She’d nearly stopped breathing, also good, and his pride swelled to mammoth proportions, but the experiment left him aching, because He ached, but more than anything, he couldn’t turn off the ache in his heart. He had no control over how much she made him feel—not just in his groin. He had no control over the ache in his heart, the ache he’d only ever felt with her, because of her.

  The worst part of it all, was knowing how it wasn’t the first time she’d made him feel this way; that horrible, emotional, heart-wrenching feeling associated with the desire to relieve that need in his groin. He wasn’t used to feeling so much, anywhere but where He dictated. Paul felt like his friend had let him down, or more likely, Paul had let him down. Love did suck. Paul laughed at the thought.

  “What’s wrong?” Rhees asked warily.

  Paul looked like he’d been caught; the proverbial cat that ate the canary look.

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar.”

  He sighed.

  “Okay. I was thinking about how ready I am to make love to you, the way I’ve fantasized about.”

  “I’m game.”

  “Okay, that’s great, but . . . I want it to be in a bed. We need to call Fahtima and order a new mattress.”

  “Paul?”

  “Yeah?”

  “My family helped me redecorate. We painted, we moved stuff around—”

  “The Williams family helped you.” He looked like he’d just figured out a riddle. “Where’d all my stuff go? My surfboards, my kitesurfing kit, my parasailing—”

  “Everything’s in The Room That Had No Purpose, that became my closet for a few days, but is now Paul’s Sporting Goods Store—Room.” She giggled at her play on words.

  He headed toward the door of the room, acting nervous. He gave her one wary look before he opened the door and looked inside. He exhaled the most relieved breath she’d ever heard.

  “I was so worried. I was okay with it, if you really felt the need to get rid of it, but it broke my heart, just a little, to think it could all be gone.”

  She attacked him with an unexpected hug, making him lose his balance.

  “About the mattress—”

  “Done.”

  “Done?” he asked, skeptically.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. The Williams family had a party, for me. We painted, moved things around—we took your old mattress to Oceanside and convinced the new tenants to trade.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah,” she giggled.

  “Seriously?” It almost sounded like a sob.

  She threw her arms around his neck, worried she’d hurt his feelings.

  “I’m sorry if I overstepped—” She couldn’t finish because he’d swept her up and rooted his lips against hers.

  “Thank God for small miracles; and big ones too.” Paul’s breath hitched when he realized what he’d said. He wished it was true with all his heart—that God really had forgiven him—that he really had said it was okay to love Rhees. “I need to get you home, now. Home is where our mattress is!”

  “Okay,” she said, breathlessly.

  Chapter 28

  “Aw Danar—” he froze, right at his peak.

  “It’s okay,” she panted, kissing his Adam’s apple. “From now on, you can call me anything you want.”

  She still hadn’t caught her breath, coming down from her own.

  “Aw Danarya,” he uttered worshipfully as he finished.

  He hovered over her, and they both reached to wipe the tears from each other’s eyes at the same time. They smiled because . . . just because.

  Paul slipped to his right, at Rhees’ side, careful not to detach just yet, after making the longest, sweetest love possible—the way he wished he had the first time. He gazed lovingly into his wife’s warm, honey brown eyes.

  “I’m crying, I’m fu—freaking crying here,” he whispered.

  “Me too.”

  She looked more beautiful than ever in her endorphin-induced euphoria. He leaned in closer and kissed her, again.

  “I love you, so much. It’s better, loving who you’re with.” He’d just barely figured that out, sober, with her. “Emotional, it’s so much more when there are so many feelings.”

  “Yeah?” she asked. “I’ve only known it with the love.”

  He leaned in for another kiss.

  “You’re lucky, and I’m lucky to know you love me, and I hope you’ll love me forever, because I’ll always love you, forever.”

  She smiled, and it seemed to brighten the whole room, otherwise lit with only a few candles.

  “You sure we shouldn’t have used a condom? If I wasn’t pregnant before, I probably am now.”

  “I didn’t want anything to come between us . . . except us.” He chuckled quietly.

  “I love your smile. I don’t want to ever live without that smile,” she said.

  He masked the sadness her words had caused him to feel, and again, brushed aside his guilt.

  “You won’t have to. Believe me?”

  She nodded.

  “I promise.” He kissed her again. Paul and Rhees both groaned with disappoint
ment when their connection was broken.

  “It’s okay. We’ll spend the rest of our lives doing that over and over again.” He stole another kiss but then beamed, wickedly. “But don’t worry. I don’t think we’re done throwing in a few rounds of angry sex now and then, you know, since that seems to be your thing.”

  “My thing?” She laughed. “I refuse to take all the blame.”

  “Oh yeah?” He stuck his tongue in her ear.

  “See?” She giggled. “You taunt me. You rile me all up, because you like it too.”

  “Angry sex, with you, is hawt!” He kissed her, long and sweet before he rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up. He reached to his nightstand, grabbed two tissues, and handed them to her. He grabbed one more for himself, but froze.

  He stared at the blood on He, transfixed. Logically he knew why it was there, but in his heart, he believed it meant something more, something not logical at all, but twice now—he’d been given two affirmations in the last few hours.

  He trembled, trying to hold himself upright and not crumble to the floor. He thought that maybe he should so he could get on his knees. He finally accepted what had become impossible to deny. He didn’t understand why, but God had answered his prayer. He’d sanctioned Paul’s love for Rhees by giving him his do-over.

  “Rhees, Baby?” His voice shook. “Do you believe in second chances?”

  “Of course. Sometimes. Why?” Rhees sat up too. She slipped her arms around his waist from behind and smothered his back with kisses. She didn’t see the reason for his question.

  “Oh, just thinking.” A warm, accepting smile broke on his face. He put one hand over hers as she held him, and wiped himself off with his other. “You’re not pregnant. You’re about to start your period.”

  “Of course, you would know that before I do, Mr. Menstrual-Cycle-Savant.”

  He twisted his head around so he could look at her, the smile still on his face. He pounced playfully, pushing her back down on the mattress, pinning her under him. The smile faded as he watched her carefully, adoringly. He had never felt so content in his life, so at peace.

  “Paul?” She looked worried at his sudden calm. “Are you all right?”

  “You bled on me.”

  “Ew.” She looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  He smiled again, a big, happy, peaceful smile.

  “It’s okay, Dani Girl. It’s a very, very good thing.” He ran his tongue up her face from bottom to top, making her squeal. “It means it’s all right to keep you. I’m yours . . . and you’re mine! God said so.”

  Bonus Scene:

  Paul pulled the slip of paper from his pocket, the paper Dr. Quiñones had given him, with Dr. Keene’s number. He stared at the paper with three phone numbers and wished there were more. He wanted to call Rhees but he’d smashed up the office. He specifically remembered throwing the phone out the window. He couldn’t email her either, after demolishing every computer in sight.

  “Damn cell phones.”

  His curse carried a double meaning, not just that the hijackers had smashed his, but at the moment, he hated the way they made it too easy to keep contact information without having to think about it. The false sense of safekeeping that having a phone had given him was the only reason he didn’t now have a whole file of email addresses and phone numbers stored in his head.

  “Super-stupor brain.” He laughed at himself. Rhees’ gift for wording things was wearing off on him.

  “Juicy crisis!” He ran his hand through his hair and frowned at the memory of her. It had been less than three days, and he missed her so much, he ached. “Love sucks!”

  Falling in love had messed up his plan to live out the rest of his life, carefree and guilt-free. He’d bought the shop and made a pact with himself to, from that moment on, refuse to let family, relationships, anything, complicate his days . . . and nights, ever again.

  He sighed, picked up the phone in his hotel room, and dialed.

  “Keene here.”

  “Hey, it’s Paul Weaver.” Paul paused. He hadn’t planned out this conversation very well, but he just now realized that. “I’m in Texas. I need to talk to you. I should have called sooner, but, well, but I’m leaving today. We talked once about your retreat, I need your help to convince Rhees to visit.”

  “Well, I’m booked today, but I’m headed out there tomorrow.” Keene’s voice sounded annoyingly calm, as usual, and Paul wondered if there was a required class in psychiatry school to teach it.

  “I have an idea,” Keene went on. “Can you postpone your return one more day?”

  “Uh . . .” Paul didn’t want to. He’d been gone so long already, waiting around, driving himself insane about those blasted tests. He thought about Rhees, wondering where he was, worrying about him. He scrubbed his face, wishing he could rub the dilemma away along with the tension in his muscles.

  “Yeah,” his voice rasped. “One more day, in the scheme of things, won’t be any worse than they already are.”

  She’ll forgive me—she always does—damn it. She’ll give me hell, but I’ll get her to look me in the eye . . . he didn’t finish the thought, hating what a conniving, self-serving manipulator he could be, even to the woman he loved.

  “Great.” Keene interrupted Paul’s internal tirade of self-abuse. “Why don’t you head out to the ranch, spend the night, and we’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll call Sheryl, she’s the resident director out there. I’ll let her know you’re coming, and she’ll give you the tour, and get you all set up. You can look around, sit in on a few group sessions if you’d like. You’ll have to sign some paperwork first, just like you’re really checking in—just to protect the other guests, but there’s no better way to see for yourself what we do there.”

  Paul had to think about it for a second. He had the strange feeling he was being set up, but his concern about Rhees outweighed his distrust.

  “Okay. I have to run down to Galveston first. I found out today that the bastard isn’t even in Corpus Christi, but that’s actually better. Galveston is closer. He won’t know what hit him.”

  “You’ll have to check in by five,” Keene said, after a long, silent pause.

  Paul regretted his short burst of a temper rant to Keene of all people. He suspected Keene already thought he needed therapy more than Rhees did. He wondered why he kept coming back to the same doctor when Paul’s confidence in the man’s ability to diagnose a person’s mental health was so off.

  oOo

  Paul woke the fourth morning away from the island, the shop, and Rhees, snuggled up to the pillow in his arms. He’d slept well, considering he’d been alone. He laughed at himself, thinking he should invest in one of those long, body pillows. Maybe he could get one specially printed with Rhees’ face on it.

  He hopped out of bed and headed toward the shower since the thought of Rhees had caught He’s attention.

  “Anyone would eventually become exhausted enough to sleep,” he mumbled on his way to the bathroom.

  He didn’t vocalize the rest of the thought, but he mentally denied it had anything to do with being at Keene’s peaceful retreat. He’d arrived mid-afternoon, the day before. Sheryl had been very helpful, had answered all his questions, even applied first aid to his right hand. He’d told her he’d gone for a run and got knocked against a wall by a passing bicyclist.

  He’d eaten dinner in the dining room that compared to a five-star restaurant, scoped out the facility, looking for breaches in security that might compromise Rhees’ safety, if he could get her there. He’d even decided to sit in on a couple of the sessions, after all, to observe.

  He didn’t say a word, but listening to the patients talk about their own experiences with childhood sexual abuse had been very educational. It had given him a lot to think about—and not just how it app
lied to Rhees.

  While some actions, and some of the emotional havoc of the aftermath seemed to fall into ranges that could be tracked statistically, each person’s experience was different, and each person’s coping skills toward his or her experience manifested differently.

  He learned there were no set rules of behavior, no defined standards of dealing with the past. Everyone was different, and everyone had come to grips—or not come to grips, with their experiences in their own way.

  oOo

  “Why did Rhees have to goad you?” Keene asked, again in his too-calm tone.

  Paul rolled his eyes. They’d been over this already.

  “I didn’t want to traumatize her, all over again.”

  “Is she traumatized? What behavior have you noticed? Is she withdrawn? Have the nightmares returned? Is she experiencing panic attacks?”

  “No,” Paul exhaled. “But she should be. I told you about the similarities between the dressing room and the bathroom . . .”

  Keene nodded, but didn’t look up from his tablet.

  “I still don’t understand why she had to goad you.”

  “Because she’s sick,” Paul said dryly. “I need your help to get her to accept that.”

  “I don’t treat patients against their will. It never helps until they’re ready, on their own.”

  “So tell me what to do.”

  “Nothing.”

  Paul stared at Keene, gritting his teeth. How did the man not understand?

  “There’s nothing you can do unless, at some point, she decides she needs to talk to me again.” Keene seemed completely unfazed by Paul’s simmering irritation. “Look, you said yourself she wasn’t a statistic, and you’re right, none of my patients are. I was just trying to arm you, prepare you for the worst. I didn’t mean to come across like a fortune teller.